


If You Let Me

by Jordswriteswords



Series: A Series of Unavoidable Prompts [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa Endgame, F/F, Minor Anya/Raven Reyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 13:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17325977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jordswriteswords/pseuds/Jordswriteswords
Summary: Prompt: Write a fic based off the song you're listening to right now.Song: Sinead Harnett - If You Let Me.This song is kinda sad, but this fic ends happily.





	If You Let Me

You groan.

Your head is pounding, and your mouth tastes like absolute garbage, so you groan.

You wonder what you did last night to get to this state and you know.

You  _ know. _

So, you groan louder.

Your hand inadvertently reaches across the mattress and comes up empty, the sheets cold, the warmth of the body from last night long gone.

Your stomach bottoms out -- a nauseating feeling similar, yet so unknown, setting in your gut.

It’s the fourth time in as many weeks.

You know she can't say no to you.

You know you use that to your advantage.

Because you can't keep yourself away from her either.

It's inevitable.

You roll over and inhale the scent, so familiar, so distant, so heartbreaking.

You groan again, and bury your face in her -- the pillow, and you will yourself to stem the tears and the thoughts.

You will yourself to not admit how much you miss her. 

You let your hungover mind drag you back into the depths of sleep and dream of bright blue eyes and a breathtaking smile.

***

_ You have no idea what in God’s name you were thinking when you let Anya talk you into going to this party. You hate parties. You hate people. You hate sticky, sweaty bodies grinding all over one another in the middle of someone’s living room and acting like it's completely normal. _

_ And yet, you came. _

_ Maybe it was out of sheer boredom. _

_ Maybe -- definitely -- it was because you were tired of your best friend telling you that it was unhealthy to spend so much time alone. _

_ So you’re here, standing on the balcony of Anya's girlfriend’s apartment, watching adults act like children and blaming it on the alcohol. _

_ You sigh, let your head fall back to look at the night sky and take a drag of your cigarette. The smoke plumes in the air in front of your face and you stare at it in wonderment of when you started hating yourself so much that you took up the filthy habit. _

_ The sound of the sliding door opens, the loud music and obnoxious chatter filters into your thoughts and you roll your eyes at being interrupted. _

_ “Six minutes.” The voice is husky and sexy and you’re partially confused if the cigarette itself is talking to you. _

_ You roll your neck because you know for a fact that there is an actual person speaking to you, and let your eyes glare at the intruder while you suck in another drag of the cigarette petulantly. _

_ Your eyes catch the glimmer of blue in the moonlight and you choke on the smoke, loud, forceful coughs coming from your throat. _

_ She chuckles, and your heart does something it’s never done before -- it skips at the sound. _

_ “What?” you ask, brows furrowed as you regain yourself. _

_ Curious blue eyes are peering at you, and, unsure of what to do with yourself, you take another drag and blame the lightheadedness on the nicotine. _

_ “Six minutes,” she repeats, and you’re amazed that a voice can make you tingle all the way into your fingertips. _

_ “Am I supposed to know what that means?” you ask. _

_ “That’s how many minutes of your life each cigarette takes with it. It's something someone important told me.” _

_ You’re coloured in shock because you always wondered how much quicker you were bringing death to your door. _

_ You tilt your head to the side and take in your companion. She’s -- she’s beautiful. That's the only way you can describe her. She’s got blonde, wavy hair with pink ends, an easygoing smile, and eyes that have already made you forget what you’re talking about. _

_ She takes the cigarette out of your hand and sucks in a deep lungful of her own and cocking a brow at you. _

_ “There, now, you’ll be here a little longer,” she says playfully, and you’re completely enraptured with the way the smoke wisps it’s way from her lips and lingers in the space between you. _

_ “Oh?” you manage to say, taking a step closer to her.  _

_ You watch as her pulse quickens and she leans just that tiny bit forward to let you know that she’s interested. _

_ “And why would you want me to be here a little longer?” you ask just above a whisper, as though speaking any louder will remind you both that you’re not alone. _

_ “Because then it would have been a waste for me to work up the courage to come out here to talk to you. I’m Clarke, Raven’s roomate.” _

_ “Lexa,” you say. You lean further into her space, bordering on cocky with your actions as you speak right next to her ear. “It’s nice to know you, Clarke.” _

_ Your eyes catch the shiver that runs through her and you smirk. _

_ “You don’t know me, Lexa.” _

_ The way her lips wrap around your name do things you can't explain to your stomach. _

_ “Take me somewhere quieter and you can,” you offer in challenge. _

_ You lean back just enough to watch her expression, the battle between trepidation and desire playing out across her face as her eyes fixate on your lips. _

_ You lick them and watch as your prey falls right into your trap. _

_ *** _

When you come to, startled and slightly broken, you reach blindly to the side table to check the time. It’s barely past nine in the morning, but you decide to get up anyway. Sleeping is just as torturous as being awake.

You pad into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes and blindly looking for advil as the weight of your poor decisions last night catch up to you. After swallowing two pills dry, the scent of coffee catches your nose.

Confused, you walk into the kitchen and search for the gift from the God’s.

It takes you so long to realize it. Only after you finish your first cup you realize that you didn’t set the coffee pot before you went to bed.

You never used to set the coffee pot.

That was always --

“Clarke?” you call out, only to hear silence in return.

You know it’s not possible, but you think -- nay, you hope that it’s true.

“Clarke?” you call again, the hint of desperation evident in your voice. You take the ultimate leap of faith and walk into the foyer in hopes that her shoes that you very suddenly and distinctly remember throwing against the wall last night are still there.

When you get there, it’s empty. And clean. The memory of tripping over your own sneakers in your haste to get her clothes off and into your bedroom come flooding back, and you feel nauseous for an entirely new reason. 

She’s gone.

***

_ The smell of coffee permeates the dream you’re having. _

_ You’re confused. _

_ You live alone. _

_ You reach to the bedside table and check the clock. It’s barely eight in the morning. _

_ “What the fuck?” you grumble out to yourself, immediately cursing your best friend for coming over at such an ungodly hour. _

_ Your head is fuzzy. You and… what was her name? Clarke.  _

_ Your breath hitches when her name hits you. _

_ You and Clarke were up late last night. _

_ Well, late this morning. Or is it early this morning? _

_ You ponder the meaning of that as you stumble your way into the kitchen, insults and accusations on the tip of your tongue for Anya. _

_ You never bring anyone back here. Not since Costia. Not since she broke you. _

_ She told you that you couldn’t love anyone. _

_ She told you that you were a lesson to be learned. _

_ Now, her memory haunts these walls. _

_ When you see the blonde in your kitchen, you immediately freeze. She’s wearing your shirt from last night. _

_ That is not your best friend. _

_ “Clarke?” you ask, eyes wide and slightly panicked. _

_ She turns and grins at you behind a coffee cup. _

_ “Hey,” she greets. “I hope it’s okay I made a cup.” _

_ “What are you still doing here?” You know it’s probably the wrong thing you asked, but you really aren’t the type to try and mince words. “In my shirt?” _

_ Her cheeks flush and something in the pit of your stomach flips unpleasantly. _

_ But, you don’t do sleepovers. _

_ Sleepovers mean you care. _

_ “I’m sorry,” she says, putting the cup down. “I just -- I thought -- I’ll just go.” _

_ “Yeah,” you say, running your hand through your hair. _

_ Not another word is spoken as her cheeks turn a darker shade of red and she walks past you. _

_ She gathers her stuff quietly, and you pour a second cup of coffee, chugging it down quickly and hoping that your brain will speed up enough to make sense of what you’re doing and saying when there’s a beautiful girl in your apartment. _

_ She doesn’t say anything to you as she slips out of your apartment minutes later. You don’t even react when you hear the door shut. _

_ *** _

You’re staring into the hallway mirror and you don't even recognize yourself.

What have you become?

Your eyes are sunken in, your skin pallor in colour, and your cheeks hollow.

Blue, sad eyes flash in your reflection and you hate yourself in an instant.

She deserved so much more from you.

There’s too much silence in this place, and the sound of your own breathing is driving you insane.

You look at the stale pack of cigarettes you never removed from the hallway table. It was your reminder of how far you had come, and Clarke’s reminder of who she lost. 

Now, it’s just a reminder of  _ everything _ you lost.

***

_ “Where are we going?” she asks, smiling widely even as her eyes are covered with the thin fabric. _

_ “You’ll see,” you tease. You keep your arm wrapped tightly around her waist and guide her along the grass to the spot you laid out the blanket. _

_ After sitting her down, you gently slide the material over her head and listen intently to the gasp she lets out at her surroundings. _

_ “Lexa,” she whispers, trailing off into the night as she takes in the stars above. _

_ Her eyes dance around to the long grass and the picnic spread and you catch yourself staring at her smile. _

_ You clear your throat and ask, “Am I doing alright? For a first date?” _

_ “You’re doing spectacularly,” she says. _

_ You try to hide your blush by looking away. “I didn’t mean to be so,” you flip your hand in the air, “about the last time I saw you. I just don’t do sleepovers well.” _

_ “Do you want to talk about it?” _

_ You shrug. “It was a girl.” _

_ “Ah,” she says, averting her gaze and nodding. “Say no more, I get it. Let’s just...” she trails off and you scold yourself for so desperately clinging to her words. “How about you let me.” _

_ “Let you what?” _

_ “If you just let me show you what we could be together instead of panicking because of what someone else showed you.” _

_ And you wonder what you did to have this girl fall into your life. _

_ You had so rudely dismissed her the morning after you spent hours worshipping her body, only to treat her like she was no one a few hours later. It had been an entire week of talking and texting and Clarke letting you be confused and cocky and patiently waiting for you to stop. _

_ You just knew somewhere deep down that you were going to screw it up somehow. _

_ She leans forward and kisses you gently, her lips caressing yours with as much care and thoughtfulness you knew she had the first night she met you. _

_ “What was that for?” you ask. _

_ “Just let me.” _

_ You chat for a while, eating and sharing stories until your belly is full and your heart feels warm.  _

_ She lays back on the blanket and stares up at the sky, and the sudden silence makes your head spin. _

_ You spend too much time trying to name the emotions flying around in your chest and your stomach. _

_ “Thank you for remembering,” she comments. _

_ You nod in response, remembering distinctly when she said between rounds on your mattress that she loved looking at the stars since it made her feel closer to her dad. _

_ You take out a cigarette and light it, immediately clinging to your crutch as, once again, the silence engulfs you both. _

_ “Six minutes,” she whispers and you hold the smoke in your lungs for a second longer before blowing it out and staring at the reddened embers at the tip of your cigarette. _

_ “I’m sorry,” you say, flinching at her words and the connection to the moment. “You learned that from him, didn’t you.” _

_ “I learned it from his doctor.” _

_ You nod, and a wave of guilt confuses you. You don't care about other people’s sad stories. You never have, but you’ve subconsciously put out the cigarette and laid back on the blanket to look up at the sky. _

_ You didn’t even realize when it happened until she shifted closer to you and laid her head on your shoulder. _

_ “I love the silence,” she whispers. _

_ “I hate it,” you respond. “I like noise. It keeps me out of my head.” _

_ “What's wrong with your head?” _

_ “It's full of memories.” _

_ Memories of Costia slamming the door. Memories of ‘I love you’s’ you said that you didn’t mean. _

_ “So?” _

_ “I'm always alone.” _

_ She traces lazy patterns on your torso while she thinks about your answer. _

_ You wonder why she hasn’t asked you why you hate it, but a part of you think she already knows. She props herself up on her elbow and looks down at her, blue eyes glinting in the night sky. _

_ You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful. _

_ “Memories can only be seen honestly. They can teach you.” _

_ “I don't want to be a lesson.” _

_ “To the right person, you won't be.” _

_ And you know she’s hit the mark, so you lean up and capture her lips in a kiss, letting your rapid heartbeat fill your ears until the sound is replaced by her soft moans and cries of your name to fill the deafening silence in your head. _

_ *** _

Your phone rings and you spend a full five minutes searching for it. You find your bra atop the lampshade, and your heart stutters painfully at the sight.

Finally finding the plastic device, you whoop in cheer and turn on the screen to see the missed call.

Part of your heart sinks when it’s not the one you were hoping for.

What exactly were you expecting her to say?

“Hey, you’re alive! Thank God!”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, “just barely.”

“I saw you leaving with a blonde last night, how was that?”

Memories of her smile and her whispered words and the promises you knew you were going to break anyway come flooding back, and you choke.

“It was fine.”

“You alright? You’re being more short than usual.”

You sigh, and you know you can’t lie to your best friend. You were never very good at it.

“I fucked up, Ahn.”

She’s silent on the other end -- that thing you hate. She plays you like a fiddle, knowing you’d rather do ANYTHING than sit in silence.

Silence means you get trapped in memories.

Memories mean you know you should have just let her.

***

_ You and Clarke have been doing this… thing for months now.  _

_ You know that she wants to address it, but you know she treats you like a scared cat -- because you are -- and she ignores it.  _

_ But tonight she’s drunk off red wine, and she’s looking at you like you’re the entire world, and you just want to let her have this one moment with you without your head ruining everything again. _

_ But you can’t. _

_ Because your head ruins everything. _

_ “Why are you looking at me like that?” you question. _

_ “Like what?” she asks, sporting a lopsided grin that you just want to kiss off her face. _

_ “Like you want to eat me.” _

_ She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe I do.” _

_ You roll your eyes and laugh. “I think it’s time for bed,” you say, turning the television off and shifting to look at her more clearly. _

_ “Only if you take me,” she whispers, leaning forward and taking your earlobe between her teeth. _

_ Heat immediately shoots into your core and you shiver at her breath in your ear. _

_ You waste no time wrapping her up in your arms and carrying her to your bedroom, her lips leaving you in a confused state of bliss as she leaves marks along your neck. _

_ “Just let me love you,” she says, looking down at you from the height given to her from her legs being wrapped around your waist and your arms supporting her thighs. _

_ Your mind races and your heart beats harder than it ever has before at just the thought of what this might mean, so you take her to bed and make her scream your name louder than you ever have, each orgasm hitting her harder than the one before. _

_ When she falls into the mattress boneless and sated, the sun is just barely starting to come up. You know this is going to be a sleepover, and you can’t bring yourself to care. _

_ You justify it by saying that she’s drunk, though you know that that’s not the case now that the hours have passed. _

_ You ignore the words she let slip out the night before. _

_ You justify that with drunkenness, too. _

_ You know it’s a lie. _

_ But you do it anyway. _

_ *** _

You’re standing in front of her door, fist poised to knock when everything hits you.

And by everything, you know it's fear.

It’s silence.

It’s the moments when you think your world is going to break.

It’s the moments you realize you actually found something you’re scared to lose. Of  _ someone  _ you're scared to lose.

You don't just want to be another memory.

***

_ “I can't do this anymore,” she says and you feel time still. _

_ Your back is to her in the kitchen, and you grip the counter so tight you're sure your fingers are going to crack. _

_ “Lexa? Did you hear me?” _

_ You don't respond. _

_ “Lex.” She takes a step closer to you and you turn on her. _

_ “Don't call me that,” you snap. “You lost that right when you just said what you did.” _

_ Clarke stills and you can see the tears in her eyes. They make the blue so much brighter, and you hate yourself for becoming so used to it. _

_ But all you do is make her cry. _

_ Because you don’t know how to say those words. _

_ Because Costia took them with her when she broke you. _

_ “I don't want to break up.” _

_ “Then why are you?” You bite. _

_ “You know why.” _

_ “It's three fucking words, Clarke. You want to break up over three words?” _

_ “It's not just the words!” _

_ You laugh humorlessly, and feel the tension in your shoulders build. “I'm sure that it's not.” _

_ “It's the fact that you've run away from me. From us. I haven't seen you in weeks! You’ve just disappeared and you expect me to just wait patiently for you to decide that you want to let me back in.” _

_ “You're here right now!” You yell. “I saw you last night!” _

_ “And you were drunk! Lexa, you only want to see me when you're drunk, and you just want to fuck and leave! I had to actually get Anya to let me in tonight just to be here when you got home!” _

_ “She had no fucking right!” You grumble. _

_ “Lexa, I can't do this anymore.” _

_ “Why?” Your voice cracks because you know. _

_ “Because I love you.” _

_ The words send a shiver through your spine and a painful jolt to your stomach. Her eyes sparkled before tears pour down her cheeks and everything inside of you feels like it's on fire. _

_ Clarke always made your heart burn. _

_ “I love you so much, and you don't feel the same way, and it's not fair to you to keep this up. I see the guilt in your eyes when you think I'm not looking. You don't -- you don't love me, and that's okay.” _

_ She steps towards you and puts her hand on your arm. You fight everything to not flinch and push her away. _

_ Because she’s supposed to know that that’s not the case. _

_ “It's not about you not saying it. It's about you not feeling it.” _

_ But she doesn’t know. _

_ Because you haven’t shown her. _

_ “Goodbye, Lex.” She kisses you one last time and you feel her heart break, and you feel something you should have expected.   _

_ You feel your heart shatter, and every piece that falls has her name written all over it. _

***

Your head falls forward in defeat and you don't react to the immediate pain from it hitting the door.

You react; however, when the door flies open and pained blue eyes look back at you.

“Lexa?” She questions, hesitant and guarded.

“Clarke,” you breathe.

It's not like you haven't seen her. You've seen her often. You see her when you dream. And when you blink. And you see her on Thursday's at the bar. You thought it was a coincidence, but it’s both of your favourite place to go on a Thursday, and the lingering sadness in both of your eyes let you know that it wasn’t a coincidence. You were both missing each other and lingering in a memory. You took her home that first night and made love to her in a way you couldn’t deny, and you’ve taken her home every Thursday only after completely annihilating all sense of reason because you  _ miss  _ her and you  _ want _ her, and you  _ love _ her. 

Every Friday you wake up half panicked because you know you do, and a little more broken because she's always gone.

“Are you okay?” She asks curiously.

“Yes -- no -- I don't -- no, I'm not,” you stutter through.

She's the only one in your life to bring out this side of you.

Everyone knows you as aloof and put together, but Clarke knows, she  _ knows _ .

And the fact that she  _ knows  _ is the only reason she's letting you stand in front of her in this moment.

She's silent as she stares at you, not inviting you in but not turning you away either.

You need to be strong enough for the both of you.

“I'm sorry,” you blurt out and immediately grab your left hand with your right, wringing your fingers together nervously.

“Please just -- just let me --,” you follow up with.

Her eyebrows shoot to her hairline, confused by your stammering.

But, now... she knows.

“I'm just -- I'm scared. Because you're  _ good _ Clarke, and I  _ ruin  _ good _. _ But, these past four weeks have been torture without you. I'm lost. And I'm scared that you're good and you're great and you're the best thing to ever happen to me. I'm scared I'm going to hold you back and one day you're going to realize it and break free and leave me behind. And I'm scared I'm going to just be a painful memory -- a lesson.”

“You just not wanting to be a memory isn't enough of a reason, Lexa,” she said tiredly.

You run your hand through your tangled locks. “Don't tell me that it's not enough -- that you're over us. Because I'd do anything for you, Clarke. Anything.”

She clenches her jaw and you know she's fighting with herself because she loves you, and you hope to all hope that this is enough. That this is enough for now.

She sighs and you nearly whoop in joy because her walls are coming down as her arms uncross.

“Please just let me,” you said again, fighting against the closing if your throat.

“Let you what?” It's a terrified whisper that escapes her, a plea to not hurt her again, and you know. You  _ know. _

“Just let me.”

You hear her breath hitch and you watch as she pauses and your entire body has stilled with anticipation.

***

You tap your foot nervously, wringing the bouquet in your hands. You forget that there are roses and feel the bite of the thorns in your palm.

“Son of a bitch,” you spit and immediately shove your thumb in your mouth.

“My mother’s not  _ so  _ bad,” she says as she steps out of the apartment building.

You swallow nervously.

“You look amazing.” She leans forward and kisses you gently.

It's been a week since you begged at her doorstep. There was a lot of talking, and a lot of pleading on your end, but she knows. 

She knows.

You drive out to your spot, your hands clammy and your mind buzzing.

Clarke is quiet in the car and for once the silence doesn't scare you. It speaks of opportunities. It speaks of all the moments you'll get to show her.

You blindfold her and walk her to the spot.

She hums happily when she can finally see again, sitting on the blanket, needy fingers reaching out towards you to join her.

You spend your time kissing her and apologizing with your mouth without ever saying the actual words, painting her skin of her neck with your remorse.

You hold her against you when a chill passes through the field and you both take the quiet moment to stare at the stars.

“Do you still hate the silence?” She questions, eyes boring into yours.

You  _ know  _ you've never seen anything more beautiful.

“No. Not if it's with you.”

She leans her forehead down on yours and you smile against the corner of her mouth, then to her cheek, then to her ear.

“I love you.” It's a breath of a whisper, just loud enough to travel the distance from your lips to her ears.

She pulls back abruptly as her gaze turns warm and so does your heart and soul.

***

It's been sitting in your pocket for weeks now. Been sitting in your drawer for months. Been in the back of your mind since you told her you loved her two years ago.

She almost found it last week when she did your laundry.

Because doing laundry was normal now that sleepovers were permanent since you had asked her to move in with you over a year ago.

The jingling of her keys in the lock startle you, and you snap the lid shut and shove it back into your pocket, the nervous buzz in your stomach spreading out to your limbs and making you feel like you are floating.

“Baby?” She calls, and you hear her dropping her bag on the kitchen counter.

“In here.” You're surprised you're able to find your voice at all, but you're smiling at the pet name.

It had accidentally slipped out when you were pouting over burning dinner, and her cheeks turned a bright red before you lunged at her and kissed her senseless with glee.

It’s been her term for you ever since.

“What are you doing in here?” she asks with a soft smile. Your heart calms in that way only Clarke can make you feel. You’re safe, no matter how tonight turns out.

She looks tired, a long day at her work no doubt, so you immediately decide to cancel the reservations you made for later that evening.

You step behind her and squeeze her shoulders gently, pulling a satisfied groan from her lips.

“I ran you a bath,” you say, and she whines happily. 

You laugh and help her out of her scrubs, tossing them in the hamper by the dresser.

She leaves you after another kiss and you hear her gasp when she sees the candles and the rose petals, and your heart rate skyrockets once again.

She sighs as she splashes the water gently.

Your heart stutters with anticipation.

You pick out her comfiest track pants and sweater and lay the clothes on the bed. 

You place the box on top.

You pace the living room, clenching and unclenching your fists for almost a full half hour before you hear the water drain in the tub.

You’ve contemplated throwing yourself out of the window more than once now.

“Lex?” You hear her call, voice bordering on slightly hysterical.

You take a calming breath and step into your shared room, because you know why she sounds that way.

You  _ know. _

Clarke's seated on the mattress, fully dressed with the tiny box in her hands.

“What's this?” She looks at you, brow quirked and her hands slightly shaking.

“A box,” you respond.

“I see that. What's inside?” You know she knows. She  _ knows _ . She  _ knows _ and she's shaking and you need to show her you're strong enough for the two of you right now.

You step closer to her, then settle on your knees while her eyes remain trained on you. 

You take the box from her still shaking fingers and open it, pulling out the fragile ring. It's barely big enough to compare to how you feel about her, but it sung Clarke's name when you saw it so you bought it and you've held on to it and you're sure it's not enough, but you hope it's enough.

She covers her mouth with one hand as happy tears leak out of the corner of her eyes. 

“Clarke I -- I promise I'll love you like I've never ever love somebody. I promise. I know I don't deserve you, but I'll do anything for you -- for us --,”

And you're surprised when you're cut off by her lips against yours. So surprised that you're speechless when she pulls back to look at you.

You clear your throat of the growing emotion as she silence swallows you and the moment stands still. 

“I want to love you for the rest of my life, Clarke.” You reach up and brush a stray tear with your thumb, smiling like an overjoyed idiot.

“If you just let me.” You slip the ring on her finger and squeeze her hand softly and she's already nodding 'yes’.

**Author's Note:**

> I really love writing from Lexa's POV. :-)


End file.
